Draconis Malfoy's Story
by Jeanne1
Summary: Internal monologue of the female version of Draco. How her intense relationship with Lucius messes with her mind and makes her more and more unhappy. Penultimate chapter up! Now getting very dark and emotionally disturbing...
1. Default Chapter

A/N: I do not own any recognisable characters in this story, and J.K Rowling must be acknowledged for her excellent books, which inspired me to write the following story.  
  
This fic was originally going to be titled 'Daughters and Lovers', inspired by D.H Lawrence's book title 'Sons and Lovers'. However I abandoned it in case it gave any reader the wrong impression. There is no slash or incest in this story.  
  
The heroine's name is pronounced 'Dray - cone - iss' (Draconis)  
  
Any reviews will be gratefully received and I will consider each one carefully.  
***************************  
  
I enrolled at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry upon my coming of age. Naturally, I was sorted into Slytherin. The hat never even touched my head - the name of the house that each and every generation of Malfoy had presided over rang out clear as a bell across the hall. All four tables of students and also that of the professors who had been holding their breath in anticipation stared at me then with a mixture of respect, awe and fear. They knew who I was. I surveyed the Slytherin table with a critical eye. A Slytherin house with a Malfoy in it was destined to be very powerful indeed. I hoped that the other Slytherin would measure up, that they would do justice to our founder, that they deserved to share a house with the daughter of Lucius Malfoy. I severely doubted it.  
  
I made my way irresistibly slowly towards my table, savouring the revered silence and rapt attention I was attracting, deliberately delaying the sorting of the next student. The others also called to bear the crest of the serpent were breathless in their desperation to be the ones next to whom I chose to sit. I was pleased with the respect I commanded. People wouldn't touch the food on the serving plates until I had taken what I wanted. They offered to pass me things, or to carry my bags, and there was silence when I spoke. They were descended from long-standing wizarding families, they knew the rules. My fellow Slytherin wouldn't speak out of turn, yet I could tell that they were fizzing with excitement at having a Malfoy in their presence.  
  
I passed the remainder of the day in a very enjoyable manner, basking in the glory that my family name accorded me. However, once I climbed into my bed and drew the curtains around me, I was gripped by a panic so sudden and so strong that it almost robbed me of my ability to breathe. That night was the first I was to spend away from home. Away from my Father. I had underestimated the importance of just knowing he was there in the house late at night. Every single night since he had come to claim me, my Father had been there for me, and I felt safe and secure knowing he was close by.  
  
I have very little recollection of my life before my Father was a part of it. I spent the first six years living alone with my mother. We lived comfortably, though simply, in an isolated little village in a remote part of wizarding England. My early childhood was not unhappy, however I always felt as if there was something vitally important missing from my life. I carried that feeling with me as a dull, constant ache, that I grew accustomed to.  
  
My grandparents would often visit, usually disturbing my mother and myself when we were at peace. I know that they meant well, but for some reason I didn't like them and I could sense they were upsetting my mother. I now know that they were the ones responsible for separating my parents and taking my Father away from me.  
  
Though my grandparents too were Slytherin and were fringe supporters of the Dark Lord, they were cowardly, and refused to bear his mark or show any public display of their allegiance. When Lord Voldemort lost his powers and his supporters were hunted down, my grandparents' disapproval of their daughter's relationship with a prominent Death Eater such as Lucius Malfoy deepened. In order to distance themselves from their fallen leader, they freely gave up names of several of his supporters to the Aurors. Thanks to my mother's begging and pleading with them, they refrained from denouncing my Father.  
  
However, my parents' misfortune did not end there. My grandparents soon discovered that my mother was pregnant with the Death Eater Lucius Malfoy's child. In a bid to protect their unborn granddaughter they forbid my mother from ever seeing him again. My parents were very much in love and it broke my mother's heart to be separated from her lover, but my grandparents wore down her will. She eventually agreed that to give me a better start in life I should be sheltered from any association with Voldemort and his band of dark wizards.  
  
When I was tiny my mother would tell me stories about him and she's show me his photographs, though I was too young at first to understand. I would often find her looking at his picture, and as I grew older and located the loose floorboard where she kept the album, she would catch me gazing at it.  
  
When my mother died suddenly of an illness, I didn't really understand what was going on. My memory here becomes very hazy. During the week before her funeral my grandparents took me in with them. They repulsed me. They called me 'Drake', denying the full name my father gave me. I was 'Draconis', after the dragon. I had always been called by that name. I hated 'Drake'. I hated being in their house. I would huddle in the corner glaring mutinously at them and I'd refuse my food. I couldn't understand why my mother had gone. 


	2. 2

A/N As this is an internal monologue rather than a story; it is really intended to flow as one continuous piece. However due to the format and conventions of FF.net it has had to be split up. Therefore it will be finished eventually, and I hope that the way this fic has been split up does not spoil it.  
  
ANCHOVY OF DOOM - Chapter 1 has been extended since your (very nice) review, as I got a bit confused over how to edit it once it ad been uploaded. It would be best to read it again before reading this one or else C2 won't make sense:)  
  
********************  
  
My memory of the reception after the burial is one of the most precious memories I hold. I suddenly saw him across the room, looking straight at me. At that point my knees nearly gave way and I was overtaken by a desire stronger than anything I had known before. My grandmother was holding my arm in a vice-like grip, and I struggled and bit like a snake caught in the jaws of a mongoose. He was coming towards me, taking great long strides as people parted to let him through. I slipped my grandmother's clutches and shot across the room, knocking a platter off the table as I went. I flew straight into his arms, but I didn't knock him backwards. He picked me up easily and held me firm and strong. I knew then that I had finally come home. He whispered my name over and over again, telling me that he was my Father and that he had come to take me home. Lucius Malfoy had come to claim his little girl, and this time he would not be denied.  
  
He took me home straight away, shielding me from the prying eyes of relations and acquaintances. When I arrived at the manor house I was speechless at the sheer scale and splendour of the house and gardens. They enticed me to explore them, but I refused to leave my Father's side. That first night we had to sleep fully clothed on the chair because I wouldn't let go of him.  
  
Ever since that first moment I have always enjoyed a special close bond with my father. Never have I known of a love between father and daughter to be so precious. Throughout my life we have been inseparable. When I was little he would sit by my bed at night and tell me stories, usually of times when he and my mother were together. I felt so safe and peaceful whilst he was there by my bedside, stroking my hair until I fell asleep  
  
I loathed to be parted from him. If he ever had important visitors, I would wait patiently yet miserably in my room until I heard the visitor leave, then I'd rush joyously down the stairs and snuggle up close to him on the chair in front of the fireplace. When my Father had his arms around me and we were sat alone together in front of the roaring fire that bathed us in its warmth; I could never feel more secure. It was hard to imagine ever feeling frightened or confused in his presence. My father was stable, constant, always there.  
  
One time I remember, not long after I moved to the manor, my father had taken me to Diagon Alley for the first time. I stuck close to him as always but somehow we got separated. Living in the tiny village had not prepared me for the crowds, and without my Father to protect me I panicked and became hysterical. My hands found their way into my hair and were tugging at chunks of it as I hitched in great breaths and screamed at the top of my lungs. Passers-by looked on in horror at the little girl stood in the middle of the alley, long, bloodcurdling screams racking her tiny body. Next thing I knew I was being pulled back into my father's embrace and my screaming stopped instantly. I clung to him and buried my face in the folds of his robes. There was so much of him to cling on to. The small, insignificant little people scurried out of his way as he strode down the street with his daughter in his arms and his thick heavy cloak billowing dramatically behind him.  
  
His huge bulk is so reassuring - rarely have I seen a man so big and so strong. He fills any room he enters with his size and his sheer presence. All other people seem to dwindle and are dwarfed by my father's presence. You can tell straight away that he is a Malfoy. A man with such force, both in strength and personality, could only be Lucius Malfoy. My Father. I picked up straight away how powerful he is. People would cower before him; they would bend over backwards to please him. Even members of other rich wizarding families would shrink before him, bowing to his command. My Father explained to me that we were the oldest and most prestigious family in wizarding Britain. We can trace our lineage back over centuries. The Malfoys are highly regarded members of the aristocracy, noted for our proud and noble history. Today our status is more elevated than ever before. Under Lord Voldemort, my father's stature grew, and after his master's fall he turned the tables and pleaded innocence, claiming he was the victim of an Imperious curse. Many using that excuse were dismissed, but my father was intelligent. He was one of the first to come back to the good side, sensing that the balance of power had shifted. He used his position and influence this time on the Ministry, who were easily cowed by his forceful presence. He holds Cornelius Fudge and his ministers in the palm of his hand. He has played tactical games and used subtle manipulation to make it impossible for Fudge and his associates to manoeuvre. The Ministry of Magic relies heavily on the Malfoy's charitable donations and other sly backhanders, and my Father is so formidable that no one, not even the leader of the country dares defy him. Our position is secure. We can only get stronger.  
  
Due to our history, the purity of our blood and the strength of our magic and prestige, the Malfoys are a proud family. My Father has passed that pride on to me. He has taught me to believe in myself, and to believe that I am better than others. He has instilled in me what it means to be a Malfoy. That we are the most powerful of wizards, the purest of families. He prepared me for Hogwarts, for my role there. 


	3. 3

As my father had been central to my world for so long it was an incredible wrench for me to be parted from him at school. The first few weeks my homesickness caused me almost unbearable pain. My Father began sending me incense sticks to burn by my bedside, which eased it a little. He burns them in the house and I often used them in my room. The smell of them is comforting, and reminds me of home.  
  
Apart from the nightly homesickness, life at Hogwarts School is a breeze. I have no trouble with lessons - my father taught me the basics at an early age so lessons in the first year were a mere formality. I already knew any spell or potion that was worth knowing. I had also been schooled in the things Hogwarts omitted from its curriculum, namely the Dark Arts. Nothing too serious at first, but my Father is gradually preparing me for when I will follow in his footsteps as a Death Eater. And of course I had no worries about making friends, the Malfoy name attracts all sorts of followers and hangers on. As for those that choose not to follow in my wake, well, they are beneath even acknowledging.  
  
However, one particular incident involving a Gryffindor first year - significant only for her dangerously foolhardy bolshiness - managed to penetrate my veneer and make me loose control. This...'creature', dared to suggest that - I can hardly bear to repeat this out loud - my Father was a 'nasty and horrid man'. I was absolutely livid. I felt anger like I'd never felt before. A white-hot rage swept over me and I reached for my wand. Nobody insults my Father; nobody pours scorn upon my family name! The blast of my highly practiced and perfected Cruciatus curse hit her at full force. Her agony was so intense that she couldn't even cry out. I stood ramrod straight, watching her silent suffering, feeling my anger turn to a triumphant feeling of power that burned within me, intensifying. My concentration was snapped moments later by a shrill cackle echoing down the corridor. I blinked and found the Bloody Baron hovering before me, partly obscuring the sobbing and wheezing form of the Gryffindor. He motioned for me to follow, and floated off with me on his tail.  
  
Secluded in an alcove, the Bloody Baron warned me of the consequences of my actions, and how I narrowly missed being exposed by Peeves. I was worried, but he assured me he would deal with the poltergeist. I know the Baron well, and I enjoy my talks with him. The Slytherin ghost is the one at Hogwarts most like my Father, though more sombre and melancholy in his death.  
  
The Bloody Baron remembers my Father's days at Hogwarts, and he often regales me with tales of his reign here. Lucius Malfoy ruled the school. It is a Malfoy's prerogative, and their duty, to oversee many aspects of the day-to-day life at Hogwarts School, and my Father was the greatest of them all. Every single Slytherin was in his power, he ruled Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff through fear, and even brave Gryffindor was crushed by his iron fist. No one dared oppose him, not even the professors or the headmaster. The Baron chuckles to himself as he recalls how many non-Slytherins, to their shame, found themselves inexplicably drawn to him, helpless to resist the force of his charismatic personality. Students in those days strove to outdo each other in pleasing him; constantly vying for his attention without even realising they were doing so. This phenomenon so afflicted the staff too, particularly - the ghost adds with a wry smile - the female members.  
  
In addition to allowing me to discuss my favourite topic - namely my father - my meetings with the Bloody Baron further solidify my burning desire to emulate him and to make him proud of me. The responsibility for the behind the scenes manipulation of Hogwarts life has now fallen into my hands. I do not even dare hope to equal my Father's past success, yet all my energy goes into proving myself to him, and justifying my position as heiress to the great Lucius Malfoy. My father is such a powerful and imposing figure that one cannot help but crave his respect and pride. I live for the moments where he expresses pleasure in something I have done, and my heart could burst with joy when he tells me I have made him proud. However I am dogged by the fear of being inadequate and the fear of failure. A Malfoy must always be in control and always be victorious. A Malfoy must never show weakness, never expose vulnerability to others. And I would die before I brought shame upon my Father.  
  
Like my Father I am neither a prefect nor a quidditch player. I prefer not to perform menial tasks such as patrolling corridors or getting my robes dirty riding round on a broomstick getting hit by bludgers myself. Instead I control these operations in the background. The Slytherin prefects are chosen by me and they act upon my instructions. The house quidditch team too, is run by me. No decision regarding that team is taken without my consent. Training and game play is delegated to my captain, but I oversee all organisational aspects and intervene in major tactical decisions.  
  
I particularly enjoy the running of the quidditch team. The players are fun to toy with. The run-up to my first match was most amusing. Competition for a place on Draconis Malfoy's Slytherin quidditch team is exceptionally high. I make sure of that.  
  
It is the greatest desire to be selected for the honour of serving this house on my quidditch team. They almost all dream of being one of the school celebrities, performing before hordes of admiring students cheering them on to victory. With my return they longed to repeat the glorious run of my Father's team 30 years ago. During his time at the helm my father brought the Quidditch Cup home to Slytherin seven years in a row.  
  
I kept them all guessing right up until the deadline. It made me laugh to watch their faces light up with desperate hope as I falsely hinted that they were still in the running. I sent them off on all sorts of ludicrous errands; I had so much chocolate cake smuggled up from the kitchens that I had to get rid of it by throwing it at the owls, and that first term I never had to complete a single piece of homework. I was perfectly capable of doing it myself of course; I just simply couldn't be bothered. And in my position, I don't have to. Oh I do so love to play games with people!  
  
However there is one major problem with my quidditch team. 


	4. 4

A/N: Thank you all so much for the reviews! It made me really happy, especially as I got none at all for chapter 2 :(  
  
I have been so busy lately that I didn't think I'd be able to update for a while - I've only had time to think about Lucius, not Draconis as well! However you all managed to persuade me to write another one, tho I had to do it late at night :)  
  
By the way, I was unaware that I could only accept signed reviews. Could somebody please tell me how to accept unsigned as well?  
*********************************  
  
However there is one major problem with my quidditch team: we have so far lost every single match to Gryffindor. Even with the threat of loosing their much-coveted place on the squad, and the even greater menace of my formidable wrath hanging over them, they still continually fail to beat our rivals.  
  
It was the day of our match against Gryffindor in the second year and my Father came to watch. I waited until the pre-match talk before informing the players that the one who had bought them their shiny new Nimbus 2001s was going to be watching. Immediately the colour drained out of their faces and I could swear the goalkeeper was going to wet himself. I glared icily at them. Weaklings.  
  
I joined my Father in the stands after having left the changing rooms. The atmosphere was electric. The stadium was alive with excitement and the pent up aggression fuelled by the bitter feud between the two houses. The noise created by the stamping of feet and the obscene chants coming from both sides was deafening. Slytherin v Gryffindor matches were traditionally bloody and violent, and so many fouls were committed that the referee could do nothing more than stand and watch helplessly. This time with Lucius Malfoy watching, the match promised to be even more vicious.  
  
I had waited all year for this day, and I had planned long and hard, imposing gruelling training sessions in a variety of weathers upon the players. Slytherin were favourites to triumph over Gryffindor, and my Father was by my side to witness my victory. It was to be such a proud moment.  
  
I glimpsed the snitch seconds before Harriet Potter's fingers closed over it. My Father's hand, which had been laid on my shoulder then tightened suddenly, causing me to wince in pain. His fingers were digging into my flesh, warning me not to further demean the family by betraying my abject disappointment. I held back the tears of frustration in the manner that I had been taught. Deafening cheers rang out from the Gryffindor stands as Harriet Potter held the snitch aloft in a salute to victory. That noise still haunts me to this day. Bitter tears of shame burned behind my eyes as my Father pushed me roughly forward and steered me out of the stadium in silence.  
My Father would confront the whole team together straight after a match when they had disappointed him. He could curse the entire lot in one go if he so wished. I, on the other hand, prefer to tackle them one by one, expressing my rage in a more subtle way, making use of the element of surprise. However, I did allow myself this time to pass through the changing rooms before returning to my room to lick my wounds. I paused and simply looked at the players - many in a state of undress, their under- developed bodies exposed and vulnerable before my cold, unforgiving gaze.  
  
I was not prepared to listen to excuses, especially ones involving Harriet Potter. Each and every player fell prey to my vengeance, but it was of course the seeker who suffered the most. After a week of agonised anticipation, he awoke one morning to find his owl lying motionless at the bottom of her cage, the mark of the Avada Kedavra curse upon her.  
Those sorry excuses for quidditch players are the most useless rabble of idiots ever to sit on a broomstick. They are a disgrace to the name of quidditch. I despair of them, I really do. I drive them harder and harder as the seasons go on. I don't care if their studies suffer, I don't care if it makes them physically ill, we must end this humiliation at the hands of our enemies and re-assert Slytherin's dominance over the school. I keep my players in line with veiled threats and whispered hints of pleasures beyond their wildest dreams in reward for overcoming this one obstacle. I am still waiting, and so is my Father.  
I am aware that I have failed to live up to expectations. It is a knowledge that pains me terribly. Each failure I carry with me as a burden ever increasing in weight. It is not only certain quidditch victories that have eluded me, but the House Cup has also slipped out of my grasp on too many occasions. The bitterest loss was that of my first year. The Great hall was bedecked in Slytherin colours, with silver serpents glinting mockingly at the losers from their green banners. I was feeling fantastic. There I was, ensconced at the centre of the table, flanked by my cronies, discussing our victory at leisure and graciously accepting congratulations from various people. I was totally in my element. Also in the back of my mind was the delicious anticipation of returning home to my Father's warm and proud welcome. I had already sent an owl this morning with the results.  
  
I was languidly flicking peas at Neville Longbottom when Dumbledore rose and gave his fateful speech. I was in shock. Unable to speak, unable to eat, unable to focus on anything. I felt dizzy and my blood was pounding in my ears. My throat was painfully dry and the cloying stench of the food exacerbated the overwhelming nausea. I was dimly aware of Vicky Crabbe reaching across and squeezing my hand in a rare moment of sympathy. I could only stare fixedly at a spot in the middle of the table, willing the tears not to fall, willing myself not to vomit, willing this interminable occasion to be over. The owl bearing the false results would already have arrived. I would have to confess my failure to my Father face to face. It was all so unfair.  
  
"You have let me down, Draconis."  
  
He banged his fist suddenly on the table, sending a house elf skittering out of the room. He was not happy, not happy at all. I flinched, and fought down another wave of sickness. His eyes were stern and cold. I could read disappointment and disgust. I wanted to throw myself into his lap and sob over and over again how sorry I was, and that it was so difficult for Slytherin in these times. But he has no time for tears and excuses. I merely said: "I will do better next time, Father".  
It was Gryffindor again. It is always Gryffindor. They have been responsible for practically every defeat, every humiliation, and every obstacle I come up against. It is that house of course that is at the root of all my problems and any tensions that arise between my Father and myself. They drive wedges between us, they undermine my position, chipping at the very foundations of my family's honour. And why is it that this particular generation of Gryffindor is a threat to us? Why is it that for the first time they have resisted our dominance and are themselves holding such a large chunk of power and influence? I'll tell you why. The one person that has upset the balance of power in the wizarding world. The Girl Who Lived. Harriet Potter. 


	5. 5

Sorry it's been so long, but I am snowed under with work! I take it you've all seen the extra scene - Mr Malfoy is looking particularly fine - I love the way he wields his cane! I must warn fans of the main Gryffindor three that I'll be mocking them a little bit here.  
  
*****************************************  
  
To think that I had offered to be her friend. They say it is the Slytherin who are unfriendly, yet it is I who extended the hand of friendship. It was an accolade many of our people can only dream of, the offer of friendship from a Malfoy. However I deemed the one witch who had managed to defeat Lord Voldemort single-handedly worthy of such an honour. To ally ourselves with a force potentially stronger than any other would have been of great value to us. Under our command Harriet Potter could have helped us rule the wizarding world. She must have been aware of the advantages to my gracious offer, but she snubbed me. She actually turned round and insulted me. I was too shell-shocked and disorientated to think of any comeback. For the first time I experienced humiliation and rejection. I can not rest until I have avenged this.  
  
It was hardly surprising that she was chosen to be a Gryffindor. Her ignorance of our society, her stubborn refusal to bow to my authority, her 'bravery' that verged on stupidity. She refused to acknowledge the other Slytherin on the train, preferring to sit with that loathsome red headed thing she drags round with her and pig out on all the sweets from the buffet cart. I was so annoyed - I was planning to do that. Since the first day Potter and the ginger twit have been inseparable, along with that ugly girl who's name I still can't remember that keeps putting her hand up in class. It's ludicrous - she is so desperate to show off her vast wealth of useless facts that she rises right out of the seat. Yes - I've seen it! I put sticky potion on her seat once and when she shot up in the air the chair came along with her, glued to her fat behind. Thing is - she kept forgetting it was there and it happened time and time again. Christ, it was funny!  
  
Those three make me sick. They seem to make it their mission to interrupt the smooth running of my life. But it's more than that. It's the open defiance, the flouting of the unwritten codes of the wizarding social order. Up until Potter came along every single wizard I met showed at least a token measure of deference to us. Of course the majority of people absolutely detest us, but that doesn't bother me in the slightest. We Malfoys don't wish to be liked, we wish to be revered. Reliance on others is a weakness, the truly strong and powerful hold others in their control and manipulate them at their will.  
  
The resistance I have encountered from Potter and her fellow Gryffindor is most disconcerting to say the least. I decided straight away that this had to be nipped in the bud, and that Potter needed to be punished, severely.  
  
At first it was amusing getting Potter into trouble. I got countless points deducted from Gryffindor on her behalf - a ridiculous number of those during Potions. Filch and Peeves were easy to send into her path and she received numerous detentions in her first year. That girl was so gullible, I managed to convince her she was going to get expelled at least once a month. However I soon grew bored. Such childish games were not enough. I wanted to destroy her, to grind her spirit into the ground, to make her very existence unbearable. Harriet Potter had to learn not to mess with Draconis Malfoy, daughter of Lucius Malfoy.  
  
I originally came up with the idea as yet another way of getting Potter into trouble. I was dissatisfied with the plan at first, as earning detention for Potter had long ago ceased to soothe my anger. The I saw the twist in the tale. The news spread quickly. Overnight Gryffindor had crashed from top to bottom of the league table, and everyone knew why. Potter's precious Gryffindor cast her out. After less than a year at Hogwarts she had destroyed everything in a moment of stupidity. And I was there at the turn of every corner with a knowing smirk on my face, another painful reminder of her fall from disgrace into despair. The beauty of it was that she knew it was my doing. No matter what, Slytherin always gain the upper hand.  
  
Since then I have initiated many other campaigns against Potter. The next torture I had in mind was double the intensity. It was not just her house that I turned against her, but the whole school, including the teachers. Even her closest friends had trouble believing her this time. My Father had explained the effect of Lord Voldemort's curse, how some of his powers were passed on to her. I seized my chance at the dueling club, releasing a serpent from the tip of my wand. The Hufflepuff - who are somewhat lacking in intelligence - could only perceive what was in front of their eyes; the snake poised to strike at one of their most popular members, and Potter staring intently at it uttering the unintelligible language of Parseltongue. No one thought for a moment that the snake may have been mine, even though it was I who summoned it. I was the only one who could have known that she was trying to lure the snake away from her friend, but though it was Potter who spoke, the snake was under my command. I too am a Parselmouth, but unlike her I am aware of the stigma attached to the ability, and I keep it hidden. It inconveniences me not to be able to speak to snakes here, and I miss the serpents that I keep at home. However the longing for my Father when I'm alone far outweighs this, so my pets are usually beyond my contemplation. I remembered them for this purpose though, and I would send snakes to Potter at inopportune moments to attempt to engage her in conversation. It nearly drove her insane - she would be walking down a corridor jammed with Hufflepuff, when a snake would slither up and enquire about the weather. I was sure I was about to break her this time. Every single student pointed the finger of blame at her, and conversations would stop as she entered the room. Harriet Potter was completely and utterly alone. She walked the halls of the school as a pariah, her eyes downcast, shoulders hunched, wounded by the hostility of her fellows. She was forced into solitude for much of the year, to avoid the loathing she encountered wherever she turned, and to avoid the look of contented satisfaction in my eyes.  
  
Being the object of hatred is worst for a Gryffindor as they rely heavily on the support and approval of others. The Hufflepuff too are susceptible, yet they throw themselves into working hard to regain people's trust. The more refined Slytherin look out for themselves, seeing others as instruments for their own gains, or as pawns in their games. A Gryffindor though, is utterly lost. Potter is particularly vulnerable to this innate weakness, and that is available for me to exploit.  
  
***********************************************  
  
I'll admit that the style of that was slightly different. Plus, I neglected to mention the main character much. I didn't really like this chapter, but it was necessary background. I'll be able to get into the best bit soon, but when I do the rating will have to increase, I'm afraid. 


	6. 6

A/N At last we have reached the part I originally created this story for! Draconis Malfoy and her bizarre interactions with men, in the context of her intense relationship with her Father. (and some slug-vomiting capers!)  
  
Thanks to Shirogane for telling me how to accept unsigned reviews!  
  
A couple of weeks ago I met someone who'd been an extra in Harry Potter! She appears at the point where Harry breaks his arm. Of course I asked her the obvious burning question - but unfortunately she hadn't met Lucius. She liked Alan Rickman though, and especially liked Kenneth Branagh. She said Tom Felton was really sweet. Just thought some of you may be interested.  
  
**********  
  
I am now in my seventh and final year at Hogwarts. I enjoy manipulation and revenge more than ever and I'm getting better and better at it. I like to watch other people squirm. Sometimes I'd set something up, and the settle myself down to watch the scene play itself out. I break up relationships just for fun, I destroy others' dreams for my own amusement, and I subject people to utter humiliation merely to alleviate boredom. My favourite toy has now become the opposite sex. They are so gullible, weak and stupid, they cry out for being played with. I love messing with their heads and destroying their lives, they deserve it. Boys are terrified of me, yet they cannot resist me. I trade on that. Everybody wants a piece of Lucius Malfoy's daughter. And those who don't are punished.  
  
There were two prefects last year who went everywhere together. The Gryffindor was arrogant and cocksure - he abused his position far too much and he thought very highly of himself. The Hufflepuff was quieter of nature, obviously unsure of himself and he followed the Gryffindor about like a house-elf. The Gryffindor had attracted my wrath for the simple fact that he made obvious his disinterest in me. I was offering the chance of a night of passion with Draconis Malfoy herself, I would have thought he'd be brimming with gratitude. OK, I was never intending to give it him, but that's beside the point. That I had been rejected made me feel physically sick with anger. All I desired was to transfer that feeling on to him, and make him suffer as I had done. So I arranged a chat with the Hufflepuff. I much preferred him. He deferred to me ad treated me like the lady I was - opening doors for me, offering me his last Everyflavour bean. He was so nervous of me he stuttered, and his eyes were wide and terrified. Much better. That mollified me enough to make me flatter him all the more. I told him that the Bloody Baron had informed me of an overheard conversation in the staff room, that he was infinitely better that his companion and that he was being considered ideal Head-Boy material. Laying a hand on his arm (causing him to nearly fall over) I said that I had heard whispers in the corridors, everyone was saying the Gryffindor was a hopeless prefect, and that he, the Hufflepuff commanded far more respect. The Slytherin were saying it, the Hufflepuff, the Gryffindor. The lies tripped easily off my tongue.  
  
Of course the misguided Hufflepuff couldn't resist bragging to his friend. As I had expected, the Gryffindor took it badly. I'd knocked the wind out of his sails. I'd see him mooching round the corridor with his shoulders slumped, unable to muster even a token effort to stop my Slytherin from running riot round Gryffindor Tower.  
  
Incidentally, neither of them were selected as Head-Boy. I heard the Gryfindor had been in line for the title, but he had suddenly blown it towards the end of the year.  
  
Sometimes blokes really infuriate me. I was working on a project with a Ravenclaw once. I was seething that I had been paired with a boring, bookish Ravenclaw. Blast Flitwick! I had fun trying to corrupt her though. I used to her drag her to Hogsmeade so we could do our work in the pub. She'd moan and whine all the way about breaking school rules, but the more she complained the more I'd laugh. I'd just order her more alcohol. The Ravenclaw hated that pub. The clientele was almost all male, and they'd leer suggestively at us. I'd love it of course, but the Ravenclaw would be on the verge of tears. I forced her to come along every time, otherwise I'd refuse to do the work. A Ravenclaw's worst nightmare that, not having enough work to hand in. I was at the bar when some pig-headed youth shouted something obscene at me for pushing in. Nobody swears at me. I seized his chin in my hand digging my fingernails into his filthy skin and forced his head round to face me.  
  
"Don't you know who I am?" I growled menacingly. He gazed at me blearily as I informed him coldly. I saw the realisation dawn upon him slowly.  
  
"Eat slugs."  
  
The poor boy was seized with the most violent convulsions, and he grasped at the bar for support as he coughed and writhed in agony. He heaved and heaved, great fat slugs plopping out of his gaping mouth onto the stone floor. The other patrons stared in fascinated disgust at his mouth, ringed with dripping slime, waiting for the next slug to emerge.  
  
"Miss Malfoy." he was gasping "please."  
  
I lounged casually against the bar, presenting myself at my most alluring so that he could fully reflect upon the error of his ways.  
  
"You must apologise."  
  
"Sorry-" he gurgled, as another slug slithered out cutting off the end of the word.  
  
"Profusely."  
  
"Miss Malfoy, I am so terribly sorry, now please-"  
  
"Not good enough."  
  
"I am so very very very sorry, please forgive me..."  
  
I collected two drinks that somebody else had ordered and wandered over to my table leaving my victim to his tortured apology.  
  
"Aren't you going to stop this Draconis?" asked my Ravenclaw companion, who I must say, was looking quite distressed.  
  
"Nothing I can do," I shrugged. "Guess we'll just have to wait until it wears off." Bored then, I turned my back and sipped the drink. Tia Maria and coke, good choice.  
  
*  
  
And that was just for a few drunken swear words. So I guess you could say that was one reason why I can get men at the drop of a hat. But one must also consider my looks, the blonde hair and chiseled cheekbones I inherited from my Father, and the slight frame that came from my mother. And last but by no means least, there is the prestige associated with nobbing a Malfoy.  
  
It is rather unfortunate then, that I have yet to have come across a male that I even remotely desire. In fact, I find them quite vile. Boys ooze round the corridors of Hogwarts sniffing out the girls who saunter past without realising what an inadequate species they really are. When I compare them to my Father, I laugh out loud. Or I feel physically sick. I need a man who is at least as strong as my Father. For ultimately, a boyfriend serves as a replacement for a girl's father, someone to take over the job of protecting her. Though I fail to imagine how any of these pathetic specimens could take on that task. As I have proved on many occasions, I am perfectly capable of protecting myself. The boys at Hogwarts are just that: boys. They are skinny and weak, with receding chins, spotty faces and legs like stick insects. Their robes hang off them. No wonder so many girls here diet; it is a necessity if you wish to be thinner than the men! I have seen them on a sunny day in Hogsmeade; parading round the park with their pigeon chests exposed, hideous forms of puny white flesh. I felt so ill I had to return to my room.  
  
My Father is so big and strong, so comforting, he makes me feel so safe. He is twice the size of these men. I have grown up so close to him, that that is what I consider to be normal. The boys I have met have all been aberrations, too small and weak to be considered male. I long to find someone who can make me feel as protected as when I am with my Father. Someone into whose arms I can sink, onto whose chest I can lay my head and close my eyes without feeling frightened. I know I must leave my Father one day. The thought makes me feel quite weak with terror. But I know I cannot go on being his little girl for ever. If for nothing else, it is my duty to procreate, to further the Malfoy line. However I am still holding out, in the hope that somehow, I may come across a man who can equal my Father, someone who is strong and powerful, who commands presence of his own, who can tame the willful daughter of Lucius Malfoy himself.  
  
***************************  
  
I'll leave it there. Writing that has made me feel very emotional. Next time I must increase the rating to R, so adjust your settings at the top if you wish to find the subsequent chapters. I have bumped it up because the next episode treats Miss Malfoy's night-time activities, and the rest of the story is very dark indeed.  
  
On a lighter note, I am working on other fics. For those who like Alan Rickman, there is a HP/ Robin Hood Prince of Thieves crossover (also R- rated), with a pure RHPofT version on the RH section. I have also started an offshoot to this, where Draconis goes to Germany, inspired by the holiday I took there at the weekend. This one also treats her relationships with men, but it is PG13. 


	7. 7

Chapter 7 of Draconis Malfoy's Story is R-rated for mild sexual content. It would be suitable for over 15s, but I wouldn't want younger readers viewing this, so I have had to restrict it.  
  
To read this chapter, go to the box at the top of the page and select R- rated. The story will be entitled 'Draconis Malfoy, Chapter 7'.  
  
Chapter 7 is the only restricted chapter, and subsequent chapters will be posted on here, on this story, on the PG-13 section like normal. 


	8. 8

A/N: This is the penultimate chapter, and the last chapter from Draconis' POV. It gets very dark from now on, so I warn you that it'll provide *very* harrowing reading.  
  
*************************************************  
  
We are living in uncertain times. But whichever way it goes, I cannot see how either way my family can win. Lord Voldemort is angry with my Father. I saw his red, ugly head in the flames, raw and glistening with blood and sweat, evil radiating from our fireplace.  
  
"Lucius, my slippery friend."  
  
I did not stay to hear the rest. I could not bear to hear the catch in my Father's voice. That voice that was usually so strong and calming and reassuring, I could not bear to hear it waver. I saw my Father's face set rigid with worry, a look I have never seen before. He could not look me in the eye. He was shut away in his study for hours, not moving. I hesitated outside his door, confronted by the silence within. I longed to run into his arms, but I could not place this extra burden upon him. I longed to have him tell me things were going to be alright, that we would survive. Yet this time I knew deep down that he would be unable to find the words to lie to me.  
  
Naively, I believed that the Dark Lord would protect us, that there would be a place for me by his side upon his return to power. Though my Father is deeply out of favour with his master, our greatest threat would be if he were to be destroyed. Dumbledore, the Weasleys and people like them - the next generation of wizards that will graduate from Hogwarts at the same time as me - are already suspicious. They have pried into our secrets, and it is only the incompetence of the ageing Cornelius Fudge that is preserving our heritage. The power of the Death Eaters is under threat, this new breed of wizards is increasing its stronghold over the Ministry. Soon, our veneer will be stripped away, our secrets exposed, the Malfoys will be laid bare to the mercy of the Gryffindor. And I am frightened.  
  
I hardly ever stay at Hogwarts now. I have started to miss lessons as they hardly seem important in the face of everything else. I cannot bare to leave my Father's side, even to go to School. I am loosing my grip on Hogwarts. Potter and the Gryffindor are growing in strength and numbers, and faced with their ascendance cracks are appearing in the foundations of Slytherin's might, and I can feel everything we have built up slipping through my fingers. I struggle to keep all the plates spinning - the Quidditch, the Prefect system, all the different games I have to play, it's like a complicated chess game with many interlocking layers. With each manouvre I have to outwit the teachers, the staff, the ghosts, the portraits - I cannot keep an eye on everything at the same time! Potter is too strong, she has Dumbledore, McGonagall, and all sorts of underground resistance fighters she has managed to unearth. Everywhere there are traps for me and my Father to fall into. It was my responsibility to keep everything under control. It was my responsibility to spread our influence and form allegiances, and to thwart our enemies. I was supposed to regain our position in Lord Voldemort's court and smooth a path to his new success. But I have failed. I have failed our master, our founder, and my Father.  
  
I sit on my Father's lap, unable to move. He holds me as tightly as I hold him. He needs me. He clasps me so close to him because he is seeking comfort from me too. That scares me. I am not used to it. All my life I have looked up to my Father, his strength had been infinite, he could protect me from anything. Now I see he has limits. I am loosing him.  
  
My teeth are chattering. We have been like this for so long it has grown cold and we are frozen in place. With Lucius Malfoy gone, our family will fall. We will either be killed, or we'll die out. I am my Father's only child, and I have no one with whom to continue our great heritage. That heritage is all for nothing now. We had not reckoned on Voldemort's wrath, we had not prepared for Harriet Potter's power. We have found ourselves without a place, without a home to go to. When my Father goes, there will be no *home* for me, neither at Voldemort's right hand nor by the side of a husband. Nobody will want me. I will be utterly alone.  
  
I burrow myself closer to my Father's chest, trying to press next to as much of him as possible to warm us both up. He is very still. I am too exhausted to cry. I have given up, crushed by the futility of it all. I see nothing but emptiness, I cannot perceive any way out. Maybe if I had found somebody, maybe the son of a fellow Death Eater, someone in Hogsmeade, or even from my trip to Durmstrang, but there had been no one. No one who could offer me what I needed, nobody who could ignite the flame of passion within me, nobody who could excite my body or thaw my frozen little heart. No one who's arms were as strong as my Father's. Not knowing what the future holds is the worst. Not knowing where I'm to go or what I'm to do. I need someone. But the only man I have ever loved is dying. There is no one. I cannot find them and there is nowhere left to look. I am so frightened I cannot breathe. I am so frightened, so terrified, so alone. 


	9. 9

Sorry I have not updated for so long. I have been through a lot this last two weeks. I have had exams for my finals, and I also met a boyfriend. We only got together two weeks ago, and I needed to spend all my time either revising or spending as much time with him as possible. Furthermore, in three days I am moving to Paris to start a job there, so it will be very difficult for me to see him. Being like my heroine Draconis, I find it hard to meet a man to match my standards, therefore this one is very special to me, and it has been an emotional fortnight for me.  
  
Now I am back at my parents' house I am putting up my final installment of Draconis Malfoy's Story. It is very dark, and something unexpected happens, so have your tissues at the ready. As I will not have access to a computer in Paris I will be unable to read and review any of your stories, I am sorry for that.  
  
By the way 'On the house' means that you get your drink for free.  
  
*******************************************************  
  
This was William Dickens' big chance, his first serious mission. For years he had been shadowing the great Auror Orion Wormwood, often accompanying him on minor jobs. But never had he been given responsibility on such a big case as this.  
  
The Malfoys.  
  
The very whisper of the name filled William with dread. Rumoured to be amongst You Know Who's strongest supporters, they had evaded conviction, until now. He and Orion were to lead the raid on Malfoy Manor, with the intent to capture its patriarch and bring him to justice. William was mortally afraid.  
  
Once inside Malfoy Manor, William would have given anything to be back at home. The dark, freezing corridors exuded black magic and evil. The old place had am atmosphere, almost palpable, filling his heart with dread and despair. He couldn't begin to imagine what he might find there. Trained witches and wizards from the Army Against the Dark Arts were stealthily opening doors and peering into chambers. Everyone had their wands at the ready, their breath held in tense apprehension. William prayed that no one was in residence. Forget the promotion - if the Malfoys were here, he'd never get out alive.  
  
Then all of a sudden the signal was made and William, Orion and a dozen wizards burst into the main living room. William saw the Malfoys, huddled together on the sofa. They looked shattered, as if the arrival of the Aurors had only made them more tired. Lucius Malfoy had aged considerably since William had last seen him. His face was gaunt and deathly, the cold grey light in his eyes extinguished. His daughter was emaciated, her white- blonde hair was greasy and hung in tangled clumps in front of her face. She was too weak even to lift her head from her Father's shoulder. William cleared his throat awkwardly and began to read his rights.  
  
"Mr Lucius Malfoy, I am placing you under arrest on behalf of the Ministry of Magic -"  
  
Lucius gently nudged the girl and they both struggled to their feet. Draconis clung to her Father's arm for dear life, her lips blue from the cold and sheer terror.  
  
"- on suspicion of practicing the Dark Arts and collaborating with He Who Must Not Be Named. We will be escorting you to the Prison of Azkaban -"  
  
He was interrupted by a hideous, bloodcurdling scream. Draconis Malfoy had thrown herself on the ground, and was clutching her Father's ankles.  
  
"No, no, please - no, Father, oh please - no, no, please -"  
  
She was writhing on the floor, shrieking incoherently, trying to reach her Father's hand, but her flailing arm missed by a mile. William and the other wizards were stunned into silence as Draconis, her eyes rolling, howled and screamed in the violent throes of insanity.  
  
With a swish of his wrist, Lucius withdrew his wand.  
  
"Avada Kedavra."  
  
There was a flash of green light and everybody leapt backwards. The smoke cleared to reveal the dead body of Draconis Malfoy. Lucius had turned his wand on his daughter. Still keeping his eyes on him, William surreptitiously picked up the wand the Death Eater's wand that he had cast thoughtlessly on the ground. Slowly, arthritically Malfoy bent over and scooped the lifeless form in his arms and carried her over to the settee. Some young upstart behind William made a move forwards, but William held out an arm to stop him. Lucius closed the lids over his daughter's blank eyes and then kissed them. He kissed her forehead and smoothed her hair off her face. A single tear fell on Draconis' cheek, and rolled down into her hair.  
  
"My little baby."  
  
He turned round stiffly to face the Aurors, resigned to his fate. Orion lead the way, and the once powerful Lucius Malfoy, who had filled William with such ominous dread, painfully limped along after him, leaning heavily on his hollow cane. Instinctively William put out an arm to help him, but he angrily pushed him away. The Aurors watched with growing respect as the broken old man made his way angonisingly slowly down the corridors of his home for the last time, occasionally putting a hand on the wall to steady himself.  
  
*  
  
Orion Wormwood raked a shaking hand through his hair. "I need a stiff drink. William - fancy coming down the 'Three Broomsticks'?"  
  
William didn't want to be alone so soon after that harrowing experience, so he accepted.  
  
Five minutes later William and his boss were ensconced in a dark corner of the wizarding pub, each clutching a large whiskey provided on the house by Madam Rosemerta.  
  
"My nephew was at Hogwarts with young Miss Malfoy," William volunteered. "He was in Ravenclaw and was a couple of years above so he didn't really know her, but he said she was a right little madam."  
  
Orion sighed. "That she was. But she was beautiful. Not pretty, like most blondes, but captivating, alluring. She had her Father's looks.  
  
I used to see her at society dinners with her Father. She was never far from his side. She and her acolytes would immediately annexe the top table - it was like a magnet for the young men. However Draconis. she was having none of it. The look on her face, dear boy - like something had gone off under her nose. She'd draw them all in with the hot looks she would give them, she'd let her hair fall over her shoulders, show a flash of leg - they were practically on their knees before her. But she'd treat them with contempt, as if they were pieces of dirt. That was her game: entice them one by one, then throughout the course of the evening dispose of the cruelly, to the cackling delight of her cronies, and the vicious pride of her Father."  
  
Orion drained his glass and resumed his speech. "But the last couple of times, there was something wrong with Draconis Malfoy. She looked drawn and ill. No longer the great beauty who reigned supreme from her throne at the top table. Her hair was lank and you could see her shoulder blades jutting out under her dress. It was sickening. Most of the time she walked round clutching her Father's elbow, afraid to let him go. The Malfoys haven't turned up to any of the formal meals and dances this year, and the last time they left halfway through. I saw them through the window, getting in a carriage. I saw Draconis collapse into her Father's arms. Malfoy bundled her into the cab then he leaned on the side for a moment, as if he were about to fall."  
  
"I dunno," William stammered "maybe it was her Father's old age. and the stress of the inquisition after Voldemort's death. but that poor girl, tonight, oh God!" He buried his head in his hands, shaken to the core.  
  
"Maybe it was for the best, William," the older man said wisely. "The girl was deeply unhappy. Lucius Malfoy was once a very strong man, certainly the strongest and most powerful male influence in his daughter's life. Of course none of the lads at the dinners or the School could possibly measure up - there was no one to equal the Malfoy dynasty. Her Father's love was what created her and also what destroyed her. He was the rock in her life, the strength she clung on to. I really think it would have been impossible for Draconis to live without her Father. And Lucius himself must have known that. It may not make much sense to you at the moment, William, but I think Death was the only way out for Draconis Malfoy, and it was fitting that her own beloved Father should be the one to show her that mercy. 


End file.
